


Wabi-Sabi (and Other Artforms)

by themoonandmargot



Category: Smosh
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Realization of Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 14:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandmargot/pseuds/themoonandmargot
Summary: wabi-sabi: a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.Because there's an art in the way Shayne gets what he wants… though his methods aren’t exactly the most orthodox.





	Wabi-Sabi (and Other Artforms)

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this fic to my pal Katie @farklelucas for sending me the Tumblr post that inspired it all! Also shoutout to Madi @damienlost for giving me that extra push to write this. Thank you to the both of you <33

“Why do you still have that?”

Damien’s eyelids slide back, struggling against sleep. He takes a second to recollect his surroundings—the soft lighting of his bedroom, the cozy space his walls allow, and Shayne sitting beside him on his bed. His voice sounds warped when he first speaks. “Have what?”

“That. The… string thingy.”

Damien follows Shayne’s gaze to the side of his closet where a near-finished stitching of the Triforce hangs. A gift, of course (Damien’s crafty, but not in the world of embroidery), and though old and lost of its sentimentality, it continues to hold a certain place in his heart. Dumbly, Damien stares at it before shrugging. “I like The Legend of Zelda.”

“I know, but–”

“I’m gonna like The Legend of Zelda even after a breakup.”

Shayne falls silent. He knows not a hint of hostility lies between them, though he knows better than to push Damien on the touchy topic of exes. With a strange look in his eyes, he inspects the artwork for a moment longer before sighing. “I should get a tattoo.”

 _Now that’s a segue._ Laughing, Damien sits up in bed and faces him. “Right, and how long have you been saying that?” he teases.

“Screw off,” Shayne stammers. “You know I’ve been waiting for the right time.”

“Which is?”

Damien watches Shayne in amusement as he looks at the ceiling in thought. He knows Shayne’s full of bullshit, Damien’s _sure of it_ —which makes it all the more startling when Shayne snaps his neck downward and glares icy blue at him. “Now,” he says.

“ _What?_ ” Damien cries, choking on his own laughter. “You wanna go out to get a spontaneous tattoo right now?”

“Not spontaneous. I’ve been waiting for the right time, remember?”

“And this is it?”

“Only if you’re coming with.”

Dumbfounded, Damien checks the clock on his nightstand. The responsible adult in him tells him to fear the angry, red numbers before him, but everything else—his sense of adventure, his impulsivity, Shayne—assures him that an impromptu tattoo session is exactly what he needs in his life right now.

“So?” Shayne stretches to see him, and the moment they meet eyes, Damien supposes it’s a stupid enough idea to be entertaining.

“I’m down.”

* * *

 

Turns out this idea is Damien’s personal definition of a paradox.

On one hand, Base 64 Tattoos is the exact sort of place from which Damien would keep a five-mile radius. From the massive collection of biker-esque designs to the various pierced patrons, everything here makes Damien feel unwanted, out-of-place, like an easy game of “one of these things”. He’s different, alright, and he’s not happy about it.

But then again, watching Shayne lay on his side and get a tattoo on one of the tenderest parts of his body, well–

“Ho _oo_ ly frickle frackle.”

–it’s sort of funny, if he’s being honest.

Damien snickers while Davy, the tattoo artist, raises a brow. “Calm down there, wouldn’t want you getting too explicit in here,” he deadpans, wiping Shayne’s skin clean. Shayne responds with a squirm and a huff.

“Do rib cage tattoos really hurt that much?” Damien asks, observing Shayne with a morbid curiosity.

" _Yes_ ,” Shayne blurts.

As if deaf to Shayne’s outburst, Davy cocks his head. “It depends on your personal pain tolerance, though it hurts more when you build it up to be more painful than it actually is. Beefy guys like him… probably work out a bunch, should technically be used to it. But considering how he’s acting right now, he must be incredibly nervous.”

The needle reunites with Shayne’s skin, and Shayne clamps his jaw shut in an effort to calm his breathing. Damien catches Shayne’s gaze and offers him a smile. “You alright, Shayne? Buddy?” he asks, uncertainty in his voice.

“I hate everything including myself,” Shayne rasps. Damien knows Shayne is joking, but he notices the way Shayne grips the top of the chair, sees the tears sprouting from Shayne’s eyes. Damien can’t find any humor in that at all. Even worse, he thinks he might just pity Shayne.

Wordlessly, Damien puts his hand in Shayne’s and lets him squeeze it, making their fingertips turn pink. Damien doesn’t think much of it until he spots Davy watching their hands. “Jesus, dude,” Damien titters, suddenly embarrassed.

“I’ve never felt this much pain,” Shayne grunts, staring off into space. “It’s as if a million tiny gnomes with small lava boots congregated on my rib cage and jumped up and down a bunch.”

Damien shares a look with Davy. “Not sure I understand.”

“This feels how Rebecca Black sounded circa 2015. Like, I’m on a hot air balloon and I’m about to touch down on freakin’ Venus.”

“Um.”

Davy leans over Shayne once again, and Shayne inhales before crushing Damien’s hand in his. The sensation catches Damien off-guard, making him groan and chuckle a bit. Although it earns another ominous look from Davy, Damien decides to amuse his friend. Shayne babbles over the whine of the machine— _is it called a comforter or a duvet? are they two different things? is one French? oh, we should go to France one day, together_ —and Damien actually listens, all the while rubbing soothing circles into Shayne’s arm.

“France would be nice, yeah. And I don’t know the difference between a comforter and a duvet. Actually, I think it’s pronounced ‘dove-it’.”

“Dove-it,” Shayne repeats before guffawing and clutching Damien’s hand tighter. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who decided to get a tattoo at two in the morning,” Damien quips.

“Shut up,” Shayne giggles. Eyes wet with exhaustion, he looks up at Damien and grins. It’s a powerful gaze, warm and magnetically charged, and Damien feels it even after turning away. However, he realizes it’s not alone in its presence as Damien turns and catches Davy again—a flicker, a pair of eyes with its own covert objectives.

Damien looks away, quick. And it hits him as the machine buzzes louder, and Shayne talks faster, and the prickle of Damien’s fingers travels farther, up his wrist where a rubber bracelet sits—unreleased merch with a word Davy has likely never heard before, “SMOSH”, printed in big, bold, _rainbow_ -themed letters.

“Holy shit,” Shayne whispers.

Davy doesn’t need to talk for Damien to read the implication in his eyes, but Davy does anyway. “So,” he says, not a trace of emotion in his voice, “are you two close?”

Damien doesn’t know where to begin with an explanation, if he should even explain himself. He opens his mouth to at least attempt a response, all before a mighty force mangles his hand and an equally-domineering voice bellows from below. “Yeah, of course, that’s why I asked him to come,” Shayne replies, louder than he’s aware of.

That’s all the confirmation Davy needs. He nods once and draws his attention back to the tattoo. “Great, man, yeah. Good for you,” he gruffs.

Damien considers screaming. _Gay._ Davy thinks he’s gay. And it’s not the gay part that bothers Damien. The heavens above know he’s had quite a few questionable thoughts that ought to officially disqualify him as straight. But more concerning is how Davy thinks _they’re_ gay, he and Shayne, together. Half the Internet already believes it; he doesn’t need some random tattoo artist in on the fun either. The thought makes Damien’s palm sweat… or maybe that’s just Shayne.

“Damien, do you have water on you?” Shayne heaves.

“Nah, I forgot to grab a bottle on the way out. Sorry, man.”

“We’ve got water in the back, if you’d like,” Davy says, already standing up. “I’ll grab some before you pass out on me.”

“Thank you,” Shayne breathes before craning his head. Damien must be visibly shaken by his own epiphany, because Shayne immediately furrows his brow upon seeing Damien. “What’s up? You good?”

Damien musters a smile. “I’m not the one getting a tattoo, am I?” he quips.

“Nah, not yet. That’s for another time.”

“Jeez. You have it all planned out, don’t you?”

“Yup. You and me, matching tattoos and everything.”

Damien snorts. He can’t imagine Davy’s face upon hearing the local gay-couple-that-isn’t wants matching tattoos. “Yeah, I’m not too sure about that,” Damien says. “Seeing you in possibly the worst physical pain of your adult life? Yeah, no, thanks.”

He loosens his grip on Shayne’s hand, but Shayne keeps it. “Just think about it. Getting a tattoo, I mean. You might change your mind. And maybe then,” Shayne says, smiling, “I’ll be the one holding _your_ hand.”

And for the first time that night, Damien feels funny, sitting there and holding hands with a half-shirtless version of his best friend. It’s not a bad funny, or a “haha” funny, but an unexpected funny. A tingly funny. And he’s not sure if he minds.

The feeling stays long after Davy comes back with a water bottle, one that Shayne so graciously shares with him. Damien is parched, so he drinks the water easily, though bringing the bottle to his lips is a tad more challenging when Davy is watching with an unreserved intensity.

Overall, it takes an hour and forty minutes for Davy to ink Shayne’s tattoo. Damien squeezes Shayne’s hand throughout all of it, to the point where his fingers feel empty when they’re done. But Shayne makes an effort of leaning into him when they look into the mirror and see the finished product—the _So Random!_ logo, in all its multicolored, randomized glory.

“Hah, it’s perfect!” Shayne praises, smiling at Damien’s reflection.

Damien smiles back. “Yeah,” he says, tingly as ever. “It is.”

* * *

 

It’s well past four in the morning when Damien snickers in the silence of his bedroom. He peers over his shoulder towards Shayne, resting on the other side of his small room. “You didn’t notice it at all, did you?” he snorts.

Shayne is quiet, making Damien think he’s passed out on his bed, but then his foot twitches. “Notice what?” he asks.

“What you were saying, what Davy was thinking…” Damien narrows his eyes. “What all of us were implying.”

Shayne sits up. He studies Damien’s face for a beat too long, then says, “No, I knew. I was in extreme pain, but I knew.”

Damien takes a second to absorb Shayne’s revelation before screwing up his face. “What? No, you’re full of shit. You had no idea what you were doing.”

Shayne’s mouth spreads into a smile. He ducks, reaching for his neck as he laughs a bit, and from that alone, Damien knows he’s telling the truth.

“Why would you do that?” Damien sputters, feeling his face go hot. “Why would you pretend that… we were…”

“Boyfriends?” Shayne says, quiet. His gaze falters before he falls back onto the bed. “There are worse things for us to pretend to be.”

Damien furrows his brow. With Shayne being this cryptic, Damien might as well be chatting with a fortune cookie. “Like what?” he pushes.

“Ah… Mathematicians, meninists.”

Damien nods. “Any person of color.”

Shayne giggles softly and claps. “Yeah, we really shouldn’t pretend to be people of color. Gets sort of messy for us.”

They chuckle together until the air dissolves into quiet. Heavy with fatigue, Damien rises to his feet and sits at the edge of his bed. Shayne’s sure to feel the shift of weight, along with the silent question posed in Damien’s proximity: _What do you really mean?_

Shayne isn’t quick to explain, but when he gets to it, he does so in the most roundabout of ways. “It doesn’t bother you, in any way,” he slowly asks, “knowing she made it?”

Damien frowns. He fails to comprehend Shayne’s question, but then he scrolls into the reaches of his memory and recalls a conversation they had two hours ago, on this very bed. It all clicks. Damien looks at Shayne, and sure enough, he’s staring at the Triforce on the wall.

He sighs. “I never said it doesn’t bother me. It bothers me in lots of ways. But it’d bother me more if I pretended that that and everything else never happened,” Damien says, surprised by the ease at which he speaks. “Too many people live their lives just trying to forget their past. And in a way, I get it, but…” He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine being that person, at least not all the time.”

Shayne sits up, watching Damien warily. “So, do you wish you could go back?” he asks, and Damien recognizes it as another silent question: _Do you still love her?_

Damien chews on the question for a bit. He feels Shayne’s gaze again, that magnetic little thing, and in it Damien finds his answer. “No,” he says, voice light. “I feel fine right where I am.”

Shayne nods, twiddling his fingers. “That’s good. I’m glad,” he murmurs as he stares holes into his lap. And they sit in even more dizzying silence, each second a part of a countdown to something that could be monumental. At last, Shayne swallows and takes a breath.

“Being with you, holding your hand, taking something that means a lot to the both of us and making it permanent… None of it was really that bad. It wasn’t bad at all, actually. I… enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. And I don’t think I’d mind doing it again.”

The tingles wash over Damien all at once now, and they don’t go away even after he tries swallowing them down—not that he’d ever want them to leave. “Oh,” he breathes, more awake than he’s ever been at a time like this. “Well, I don’t think I’d mind either.”

Shayne whips his head up to look at Damien. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I really want to keep doing stuff like that with you,” Damien laughs, blushing in Shayne’s direction. “Anyway, all that is way better than some unfinished Triforce art.”

Shayne beams, eyes steady on Damien before looking away bashfully. “Huh.”

Shayne doesn’t have to look to know that Damien is smiling; he hears it in his voice. “Huh, indeed.”

* * *

 

Two months later, Shayne and Damien are already holding hands when they walk into Base 64 Tattoos. This time, Damien hopes to get a tattoo of his own—the logo for In-n-Out Burger, which makes for a confusing inside joke and an admittedly strange place for a first date, but nonetheless, it works out in all aspects.

On that night, Damien finds that a rib cage tattoo doesn’t hurt that bad, but he likes squeezing Shayne’s hand anyway. Shayne lets him; it’s what any good boyfriend would do.

And to think Davy was right all along.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you'd like, please leave a comment below telling me what you think, and if you're on Tumblr, check out my blog @shaymiens! <3


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